


Road to Recovery

by cbpedersen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Has PTSD, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cbpedersen/pseuds/cbpedersen
Summary: Harry Potter feels lost after the war, and is forced to return to the place he called home. How will he and those around him cope?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Kudos: 4





	Road to Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first (posted at least) fanfiction work. I'm not sure about a lot of things, but I'll probably add things later on! I'm not a nativ speaker of English, so please bear with me.  
> The reason I decided to write this was because my overactiv brain needed to get some ideas down on paper, and I got my first 6 (better known as A i think) in Enlish on my end of term grade. I finally feel that 10 and a half year of learning english as a secondlanguage have paid off! Don't take this as if I am really good at grammars and language, I just got really lucky with the assigment this year.  
> Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. I do not claim ownership over any of the characters or the world of Harry Potter. Everything before my story takes place is written by J. K. Rowling, and the rest is not intended to be a part of Canon, only for entertainment and to improve my writing. I do not earn anything on this, except mabye a better understanding of the english language.

Empty.

That was everything he felt. Nothing. Blank. Empty. 

It was the war fault. The empty, hollow feeling that never disappeared was a consequence of being a war hero at the tender age of 17. Or 18. He wasn’t certained. 

Harry was currently sitting in the window in Grimmauld Place, looking out at the every time busy street of London. The cars flew by, people, families, groups very laughing, smiling, or simply walking by. The wind made the leaves rustle, and the clouds covered the sky, making it impossible to determine the time. The repetition of this simple landscape seemed fitting for the emptiness, so his eyes continued to stare out of the window. He wasn’t sure how long he had been here. It could by days, weeks, even months. The window, inside one of the bedrooms he had found when he first arrived here, had quickly become his place. The only time he left it was to go to the bathroom, or if Ron and Hermione dragged him down to eat. 

Right after the war, Harry had been living in the Burrow with the rest of the Weasleys, attending funerals, holding speeches and comforting those who had lost someone. It had been nice at first, but soon the feeling of the house made him feel suffocant. Even though they tried to hide it, the whole family was affected by Fred’s death. Their smile never reached their eyes, the laughter was hollow, and Harry would catch all of the members in the family, if left alone, staring out of the window, tears in their eyes. George was the worst. He locked himself in his room, and those few times Harry actually saw him, he would quickly look away, trying to forget the haunted look, how his shirt hung off his body and the clear black rings, which testified of countless sleepless nights. 

Harry thought he could handle it, after all who couldn’t handle his as-good-as family, but after three weeks of constantly jumping at the smallest unexpected sound, wand drawing at every sharp movement and a gnawing feeling of guilt deep down in his stomach, he found out that he had to leave. This is how he found himself staring out of the window in Grimmauld place, after writing a hasty note to the Weasleys about his whereabouts and a plea to give him some time alone. 

He should have known that his two best friends would check in on him, but he hadn’t foreseen how soon, and how often. Or maybe he had. He wasn’t sure. 

His thoughts were swirling, and somehow he found himself back at the day he had arrived here. After walking into the house, pushing away all the awful memories, he had gone into the first guest room he saw, found the window, sat down and looked out on the busy street. He didn't have a reason for why he did it, it just felt right. After what felt like a couple of minutes, but probably were many hours, he had heard a knock on the door, and had not lowered his wand before he saw his two best mate's faces. After seeing their relieved faces, he went back to staring out of the window. Ron and Hermione had pestered him about sleep, food and his current condition, which he as a good friend had tried to answer honestly, even if it was in short monotone words. This seemed to satisfy his friends, as they left him shortly after making his promise to eat something. Harry however, had no intention of eating anything, and when Ron and Hermione returned a while later and found out he had eaten absolutely nothing, they had their meal with him. 

The kitchen was noticeably less gloomy, and filled with food. Harry guessed Hermione had cleaned the kitchen, probably to remove some of the memories, but Harry found himself filling up with dread at the thought of staying here. He wondered why he ventured here, before the answer had hit him in the stomach; he had nowhere else to go. 

This routine continued; Ron and Hermione would come over, talk to him about everything and nothing, make sure he ate, and sometimes even force him into the showers. Sometimes they came together, sometimes alone. After some time in the house Harry was consumed by the emptiness, and absolutely nothing mattered anymore. Still, sometimes during his friends' visits, he felt a spark of something, deep down. Maybe an emotion, or maybe just pain? He wasn’t sure. 

During his sudden train of thought Ron knocked on the door, and came into his room. Harry turned his head at the sudden noise, but made no move for his wand, an improvement as far as he was concerned. Ron dragged him out to the kitchen, put some food on a plate. Even though Harry ate regularly, he ate way too little, and he knew he was concerning his friends. He started nibbling the food, was startled when Ron cleared his throat. When he took a closer look at his friend, he saw that Ron seemed nervous over something, and before he knew it, he was looking with a questioning look at him. 

“Um, I have something important to tell you.”

When Harry made no move to answer him, Ron continued to talk.

“Well, you see, we tried to stop it, you know, Mione even contacted the Minister and Headmistress McGonagall, but they refused to change their mind, refuses to make an exception. They say it’s important, that we will all heal from it, utter rubbish if you ask me. Well, anyways, they say that if we don't show up, we won’t be able to take our N.E.W.T. 's, and we won’t be able to get a job without them. I think you would especially make the papers if you didn't go, but I…”

Ron stopped talking, probably because he saw Harry’s frown. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, i forgot to tell you what I mean.”

Ron took a deep breath, before he gave Harry a look between a smile and a frown:

“We’re going back to Hogwarts.”


End file.
